


Breaking the Shell

by Jayne L (JayneL)



Category: Iron Man (Movieverse), Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-29
Updated: 2008-07-29
Packaged: 2017-10-06 01:59:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayneL/pseuds/Jayne%20L
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Terminator, meet Tony Stark. Tony, meet Terminator.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaking the Shell

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Signe for the prompt.

Tony hovers in the dark, a hundred feet off the ground, watching a girl stand in the wreckage of the arc reactor. She doesn't move; after a while, tired of the view of the back of her head, he twitches his left palm and drifts slowly to a position that gives him a look at her face.

"Hey, she's pretty," he says. "Zoom in another five percent."

The view inside the helmet refocuses: head and shoulders, crystal clear. The girl's gaze roams slowly across the devastation, as if she's cataloguing it. "You sound surprised to find the subject attractive, sir," Jarvis comments.

Tony huffs. "You're kidding, right? I think all machines are pretty. I just don't say it very often because they're already so easy to get into bed." He's on the verge of babbling, but he feels like his whole body's vibrating, like his _brain's_ vibrating, and he can't help himself. "Usually, though, I'm more turned on by their dazzling circuitry and big titanium chassis than their nice ass and cute nose." His gaze darts to the internal schematic Jarvis is building on the right side of the screen. "Dear God. She has those, too."

And then, as he watches, the machine that looks like a pretty girl tilts her head up and looks at him. Directly at him, without blinking, blankly serious.

"Whoops," Tony mutters. "Jarvis, do you see any weapons?"

"None, sir. However, it may interest you to note that many of the subject's manipulative and propulsive mechanisms are quite similar to designs currently in development at Stark Mechani-Prosthetics."

"That is interesting. Hmm." The girl still hasn't blinked. Tony makes a decision.

Her eyes stay fixed on him all the way down.

When he lands, debris crunching under the weight of the suit, she tilts her head on her neck and still doesn't blink. "Tony Stark is Iron Man."

Despite the flat affect, the voice is young--girlish, even. All too easily, Tony can hear it chattering away in casual conversation, ordering some ridiculously ornate coffee, giggling drunkenly; it might as well be the voice of any girl Tony's ever met, or passed on the street, or slept with. It took him _ages_ to get his first vocal AI to sound that realistic. "You saw the press conference," he replies, an automatic downplay of his own, ever-mounting awe. "Of course you did; CNN's been running it twenty-four hours a day all week." He pauses, just for a second, before asking, "Is that why you're here?"

"No."

"No. You're here for the arc reactor." He nods and half-shrugs, the motions too small to move the suit; Jarvis picks up his cue and begins scanning the area for hidden accomplices. "Sorry, it's not in the greatest condition right now. Had a bit of an accident, but like I told my shareholders, we'll have a new one up and running before the new year--"

"No. I'm not here for the arc reactor."

"Really?" Jarvis's results pop up on the screen: except for the guards on the gate to the now-abandoned facility--their human heat signatures blobby messes compared to the girl-machine's trim, even shapeliness--they're alone. Tony lets his mouth run while his brain sorts through the possibilities of what's going to happen next. "Huh. Because it's a really efficient energy source, and okay, the big one was a little unwieldy, but--hey, by the way, can I ask what powers _you_? Because wherever you're hiding whatever it is, I'm very impressed."

"I'm here for you."

"For me?" He hits a whole new octave with that question, and thinks fleetingly that Iron Man must sound totally ridiculous right now. She's just _looking_ at him, and she _still_ hasn't blinked, and he can't figure out whether he wants to be more turned on or terrified, he really can't. "Honey, I'm flattered, but even I have to admit: you're way beyond me."

Now she blinks, once, and the look she gives him--it's like she doesn't quite understand half of what he's saying. He can't call it a look of confusion, though: that would suggest she _cares_ about understanding what he's saying. "Following Tony Stark's return from Afghanistan and the advent of Iron Man," she says, and it's like she's reading off some memory file stored deep in that gorgeous human-analogue head of hers, "Stark Industries prioritises its research into clean, portable energy and biomechanical engineering. The advancements made in these areas prove crucial to the inevitability of Judgment Day."

"_Judgment--_" Tony holds up his hands, inadvertantly making his palm-thrusters flare. The light dances over the girl's face, highlighting her in colour and then, when he gets ahold of his tech again, deeper shadows. "I'm sorry, I'm getting a _huge_ Battlestar Galactica vibe, here. Look, what's your--do you _have_ a name?"

"My name isn't important. I must complete my mission." And with long, measured steps, surefooted on the scattered hummocks of debris, she begins walking toward him.

"Okay," he says hurriedly, his mouth taking over again while his brain focuses on more serious things, like the threat assessment diagrams Jarvis is scrolling unemotionally in front of his eyes. "Okay, then who made you? Are there patents I can buy, or--?"

When it comes to the suit, one of the things Tony's been meaning to work on is hand-to-hand combat. Sure, Iron Man can fire mini-missiles and an ungodly number of machine gun rounds, not to mention throw some flames, if that's what's required. And granted, the average human doesn't usually _want_ to go hand-to-hand with Iron Man, preferring not to break every bone in his or her body. Still, there are some scenarios in which heavy artillery just isn't the answer.

And one of those scenarios unfolds right there in front of him, as the girl marches right into his space and starts throwing punches that make the suit _judder_. Even when he manages to block or catch her fists, even when his interference turns her blows into glancing hits--inside the suit, it feels like being in the middle of a barrage, each impact thrumming through the armour.

"You know what the worst part is, Jarvis?" Tony asks conversationally as he turns aside a determined right hook to the mask only to feel the girl-machine connect a solid jab to the plating over his gut.

"What might that be, sir?"

"If she does this long enough, I really think she'll crack me open like an egg."

"Pity, sir."

"Indeed. Oh, hell. Give me something relatively low-yield, right shoulder. Fire."

The small missile strikes the girl's breastbone. The detonation blows them both backwards; Tony flicks his wrists, firing his thrusters to steady himself in mid-air, and sighs heavily. "I really didn't want to do that. Hey, Jarvis, you see any pieces?"

But when Jarvis answers, it's with an incomprehensible fuzz of static. "Jarvis?" Tony repeats, twitching his fingers to initiate status and damage reports. "Come on, you big baby, we've been hit harder than that. Where'd you--"

But then, his attention is caught by movement from behind a pile of debris about twenty feet away. Ignoring the jagged white noise in his ears, he demands, "Jarvis. Quadrant D-3. Zoom in thirty percent." The static gets abruptly louder, then dies out; the image on the display wavers, then flickers, then finally resolves--and Tony watches, amazed, as the girl stands up.

And, again, looks right at him.

"Superficial damage. That's all, just clothes and--whatever her skin is, and--just superficial, Jarvis, look--I don't see any structural compromise _at all_." His gaze roams slowly down the girl's body, noting the places where solid metal gleams, exposed under soot and dirt and the charred remains of what must be synthetic skin. He whistles hoarsely through his teeth.

"...suggest a tactical retreat?" Jarvis's voice fades in, its volume uneven through the static that's now a background hiss. "It would seem the subject...loosen the circuit shielding, which...controls vulnerable to the blast. I will need...repair and reboot."

Tony stares down at the girl. She stares up at him, expressionless. "Yeah," he says finally, after a long, heavy silence. "Yeah, that'd...probably be best."

It's another long minute before he actually moves, firing his jets and peeling off into the nighttime sky.

Back in his shop, as soon as he's out of the suit, he calls up all the files from Stark Mechani-Prosthetics. And goes to work.

 

End.


End file.
